"WOOOOHOOOOO! THIS IS THE BEST VOYAGE EVER!" Dora's booming voice echoed across the deck, her excitement undiminished despite the absolute chaos we had just endured.
Our massive galleon drifted aimlessly through the sky, suspended thousands of meters above the sea below. The freak storm that had swallowed us for more than a full day had finally begun to dissipate, yet the ship remained airborne, kept afloat by the few remaining—and thoroughly terrified—octopus balloons.
I gripped the railing, surveying our predicament. We were completely lost.
Originally, our descent despite being reckless had been carefully planned—we were supposed to land somewhere in the first half of the Grand Line, navigating our way back with relative ease. But after being tossed and spun like a ragdoll by nature's wrath, all sense of direction was thoroughly obliterated.
Up here, there was no horizon. No landmarks. No sense of direction.
Our temporary navigator—a frazzled, exhausted man—was desperately scratching his head, staring helplessly at a cluster of eternal log poses, each of their needles pointing uselessly downward toward their respective islands.
Meanwhile, the normal log pose? Its needle was spinning so wildly that it might as well have been mocking us.
"Bllleeeerghhh..."
A familiar retching sound pulled my attention toward the railing, where Lucci was doubling over, emptying what little remained of his stomach into the endless void below.
The once-proud, battle-hardened warrior had survived brutal training, deadly assassinations, and countless fights... but apparently, a day and a half of being tossed around by a hellstorm had finally broken him.
His knuckles whitened as he gripped the railing, his face a shade paler than death itself.
"Dora..." he croaked, his tone filled with a mixture of exhaustion, betrayal, and pure hatred.
But before I could respond—
"ROSS, LET'S DO IT AGAIN!"
I barely had time to react before Dora spun toward me, her massive hands clapping with pure glee. Her eyes sparkled with unfiltered joy, and the massive feathered serpent draped around her shoulders—the Lord of the Sky itself—coiled lazily, completely unbothered by the chaos around us.
"We HAVE to go back to Sky Island and do this again! That was AWESOME!"
I felt my eye twitch. Lucci, who had barely recovered, snapped his head toward me, his glare sharp enough to pierce steel. His meaning was clear—
"Say yes, and I will personally throw myself off this ship."
I sighed. I had fought pirates, marines, bounty hunters, even legendary warriors... but nothing in this world was more terrifying than Dora's unrelenting enthusiasm and Lucci's silent death threats.
We were lost. Adrift in the sky with no idea where we would land. And yet, despite everything…
Dora was still having the time of her life.
"Do you at least have a rough estimate of where we are?" I asked, my voice carrying across the deck as I turned toward our navigator.
He was trying—truly trying—to make sense of our situation, but from the look of sheer defeat on his face, he was failing monumentally.
I exhaled sharply. If he can't figure it out, then our only option is to pop those damn balloons and let the ship drop. At least once we hit the sea, we might be able to regain our bearings.
Just as I was about to give the order, the door to the ship's cabin creaked open.
From the shadows of the interior, a disheveled, middle-aged man stepped out onto the deck. His clothes were tattered, his beard unkempt, and his eyes hollow—a stark contrast to the world buzzing with uncertainty around him.
It was him. The man I had rescued from a pirate crew more than a year ago. The man who had once sailed into the unknown and claimed to have seen Bonbori.
For all this time, he had been a husk of a man, a ghost of his former self. He had wandered our ship incoherent, muttering, lost within his own mind—a man who had already drowned in the past, even though he was still breathing.
But now? Now, something was different. His steps were slow, yet deliberate. His thoughts—normally a chaotic, senseless mess—were eerily silent. No doubt. No hesitation. Just… emptiness.
It wasn't his appearance that unsettled me—it was his mind. It was as though he was thinking of nothing at all. Yet in the depths of those dead eyes, I saw it—something buried, something vast, something writhing in the abyss of his soul.
Unending wrath.
A hatred so deep it had likely consumed everything else inside him. A wrath that had nowhere to go—because whatever had caused it was something he could never confront.
Lucci, ever watchful, tensed beside me. His body coiled like a predator preparing to strike, eyes locked onto the man. For over a year, this man had been senile, broken, lost—but now, something had changed. His mind was clear.
Was that a good thing? Or something far, far worse?
I raised a hand, signaling Lucci to stand down as the man moved forward. The middle aged man ignored the tension, ignored the wary stares of the crew, and wordlessly approached the wooden crates where the navigational charts and a dozen log poses were spread out.
He studied them silently. Then, without hesitation, he turned his gaze toward me—perhaps instinctively recognizing that I was the one in command.
"By my estimate…" his voice was hoarse, as if it hadn't been used in ages. "We should be near the Red Line. A couple hundred miles from Sabaody." His tone held no uncertainty. Not even a speck of doubt.
The crew stilled, absorbing the weight of his words. I narrowed my eyes. Near Sabaody Already? That was impossible. Or rather—it should have been.
The distance we had traveled… if we had taken the sea route, it would have taken over a month.
But that storm, that monstrous, chaotic storm, had carried us so far, so fast, that we had been flung across the Grand Line like a leaf caught in a hurricane.
It was a reminder—a terrifying one—of just how mercilessly unpredictable these seas were.
"Are you certain?" I asked, my voice measured.
The man simply stared back at me. His lifeless eyes held no hesitation, no arrogance, no need to convince me. He simply knew. And looking at him—this broken man, this ghost of a navigator who had lost everything to the unknown—I realized something:
He had once been a true master of his craft.
But it was that very skill—the very ability to navigate the impossible—that had led him to ruin.
Because it had led him to Bonbori.
And if he hadn't taken that voyage… if he had turned back, ignored the call of adventure, ignored the temptation of the unknown…
Maybe—just maybe—his friend, his crew, his very soul wouldn't have been devoured by whatever horror they had found.
I held his gaze for a long moment. Then, slowly, I nodded.
"Then we set course for Sabaody."
The crew sprang into action. Despite the harsh voyage we had just endured, they were all hardened seafarers—men and women forged by the unforgiving sea. With a single command from the captain, they moved like a well-oiled machine, each person falling into their role with practiced precision.
"Do you have a name?"
I addressed the man as he eased himself down against the ship's mast, letting the golden rays of the sun wash over him. He looked so calm, so detached, as if he were simply a traveler resting after a long journey.
And yet, we all knew the truth. Despite being a captive aboard this ship, he had been treated well—offered food, shelter, clothing—but none of that mattered. His condition wasn't one of the body, but of the mind.
He was a man who had lost everything. And now, he existed in a state of nothingness. The question lingered in the air, but the man gave no answer. His eyes remained closed, his expression empty, as if uttering his own name was a sin too great to bear.
I understood. He was the only one who had made it out alive. And the weight of that survival crushed him. The guilt was so immense, so suffocating, that he no longer even wished to acknowledge his own existence.
Lucci's gaze sharpened, his golden eyes narrowing like a predator spotting weakness.
The young teen stepped forward, the air around him shifting dangerously. His hands curled into tight fists, his body coiled and ready to move.
He wasn't one for patience. Lucci had been trained in the art of torture and interrogation—he understood pain, fear, and the delicate balance between breaking a person and keeping them useful.
And he knew how important the information this man held was to the Donquixote Family's future.
"Pure Gold."
A marvel of alchemy, a material so mysterious and powerful that it defied the laws of nature.
Pure Gold granted eternal youth. At least—that's how the legends went. The story was as old as the sea itself.
The original Bonbori had once been a creature like any other, no different from the countless other sea beasts that roamed the depths of the ocean. But then—something changed. It found something.
A wonder of nature—a fragment of Pure Gold that had somehow, impossibly, come into existence in the ocean's abyss. And in that moment, Bonbori ceased to be ordinary. It became immortal.
It grew. And grew. And grew. Over the course of millennia, its size swelled beyond reason, beyond understanding—until it became legend.
Bonbori was no longer just a beast. It was a force of nature, a myth made flesh, a creature so ancient and powerful that even the seas themselves feared it. But there was more to the story.
The man who had once synthesized Pure Gold artificially—the one whose ambition and genius had tried to replicate the impossible—had used the same source that had once granted Bonbori its eternal life.
And that was the secret. That was why Bonbori always sought Pure Gold. It was an unbreakable connection—no matter where in the world it was, no matter how deeply hidden or heavily guarded, if Pure Gold was exposed to the world…
Bonbori would come for it. Always.
"Leave him be, Lucci."
My voice cut through the tension like a blade. Lucci hesitated, his body still poised for action. He was young, but sharp, and he knew better than to openly defy my command. Still, I could feel his frustration simmering beneath the surface.
"No matter what you do to him, you won't get an answer. Let him talk when he feels like it."
Lucci's jaw clenched. He didn't like it. But I saw something that he didn't. This man—he had no fear. None.
There was something fundamentally different about him, something most men would never achieve in their entire lives. He had, somehow, overcome the primal instinct of every human—the fear of death.
It wasn't courage. It wasn't strength. It was emptiness. He had nothing left to lose. Not his home. Not his family. Not his crew. Not even his soul.
What Lucci didn't understand—what he was too young to see—was that this man was already dead inside.
Pain wouldn't work. Threats wouldn't work. Even death wouldn't work. Because nothing we could do to him would ever compare to what he had already lost.
And that's why, despite the quiet, defeated way he sat there beneath the sun, there was only one thing left in him. One thing he had never let go of. Hatred.
A hatred so vast, so deep, so all-consuming that even in his hollowed-out soul, it still burned like an ember refusing to die. Bonbori had taken everything from him.
And he knew—deep in his bones—that no matter what happened, no matter where fate carried him, there was only one thing left for him to do.
He would find it. And one day, he would make that monster pay.
*****
Dressrosa, New World
"Tap… tap… tap…"
Doflamingo's finger rhythmically tapped against the polished red oak coffee table, his expression unreadable. He was deep in thought, weighing his next move, but the sheer fury radiating from him was undeniable.
The air in the dimly lit room felt charged, as if the temperature itself had risen in response to his anger. Across from him, Shakuyaku sat, her normally relaxed and nonchalant demeanor gone, replaced by a rare look of tension.
She had just finished delivering grim news—a desperate plea for assistance straight from Amazon Lily. A ship filled with Kuja warriors, along with several Donquixote-affiliated crew members, had been ambushed on the open sea by slavers.
Worse still, among the captured were some of the most promising young warriors in line to inherit the title of Empress, including the Gorgon Sisters themselves.
Had it not been for one Kuja warrior's insane bravery—throwing herself into the treacherous waters of the Calm Belt and enduring a journey that should have been suicidal—this tragedy might have gone unnoticed.
The ship would have been written off as another casualty of the sea, and by the time anyone realized what had happened, those women would have already been sold like cattle in the underworld markets of Sabaody Archipelago.
Shakuyaku clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. "I know the situation isn't in our favor past the Red Line," she admitted, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her.
"Sabaody is too close to Marine Headquarters, to the Holy Land… The risks are undeniable." Her sharp eyes locked onto Doflamingo's behind his signature tinted lenses. "*But I will not sit by while those girls—*those warriors— are paraded around and auctioned off like common livestock."
There was no hesitation in her tone. Though she had long since stepped down as Empress, she still felt a responsibility for Amazon Lily's future. This wasn't just about pride—it was about survival.
A brief silence followed, the tension in the room almost suffocating. Señor Pink, ever observant, stepped forward and wordlessly offered her a thin cigar, his expression unreadable beneath his disciplined demeanor. He understood that Shakky wasn't here as a desperate woman begging for help—she was here as someone willing to stake everything on a request she believed Doflamingo wouldn't refuse.
She shook her head at the offer. "Cigars won't calm my nerves today, Señor," she muttered.
Doflamingo remained eerily still, his fingers finally ceasing their tapping as he leaned back in his chair. He exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening, though his trademark grin never left his lips.
It wasn't just the boldness of the slavers that enraged him. It wasn't just the fact that they had dared to attack a ship under his protection.
No. It was the sheer audacity—the insult—of slavers thinking they could defy the Donquixote Family's colors and get away with it.
For years, Doflamingo had made his stance on the slave trade very clear. No one—no two-bit slaver, no underground broker, no nameless pirate—touched his people and lived to tell the tale.
And now, some maggots thought they could defy that? A low, dark chuckle escaped his lips, slow and menacing.
"Fufufufu… they must have a death wish."
His shades glinted in the dim light, masking the absolute murder in his eyes. Shakuyaku didn't flinch. She had expected nothing less.
"Piripiri... piri... piri... piri..."
The unmistakable chime of a special transponder snail rang through the grand chamber, cutting through the tense atmosphere like a knife.
Señor Pink's head snapped toward the shelf, where a meticulously arranged row of highly restricted transponder snails sat. Each one was a direct line to the Donquixote Family's most trusted members—a privilege only the core of the family held.
But the one that was ringing? It belonged to none other than "Little Master" Rosinante. Even Doflamingo, still seething with barely restrained fury over the Kuja's abduction, visibly paused as recognition flickered across his features. Rosinante had been gone for over a year. His sudden call was both unexpected and... oddly welcome.
Señor moved swiftly, snatching up the receiver without hesitation. The moment he pressed it to his ear, a familiar voice rumbled through the line.
"Hello...."
A small smile tugged at Señor's lips. "Hello, Young Master. It has been a while."
"Yes, it's been a while, Señor. How have you been?" Rossinante's voice carried through, steady but laced with an unmistakable warmth.
"Well, we've had our hands full... but we manage," Señor admitted, the weight of their New World confinement lingering in his tone.
"Is that so…? Looks like you guys have had your hands full this past year. Is Doffy there?"
Señor was already stepping over to Doflamingo, who had extended his hand to take the transponder snail.
But before the snail could reach him— on the other side
"GIMME THAT!"
A massive hand shot out of nowhere, yanking the receiver away from Rosinante with all the grace of a rampaging sea king.
"Huh—DORA, NO—!"
Before Lucci could react, Dora had already seized control.
"MASTER DOFFY! HAHAHAHAHA! BET YOU WEREN'T EXPECTING ME, HUH?!"
The entire palace seemed to vibrate from the sheer force of Dora's voice booming through the transponder snail.
Doflamingo blinked, momentarily stunned by the sheer unfiltered enthusiasm barreling into his ear. On the other end of the call, Dora was undoubtedly holding the snail at least a few meters away from everyone's reach.
"Dora—give that back—!" Lucci's exasperated growl carried through, his desperate struggle to pry the snail from Dora's iron grip growing more frantic.
Doflamingo chuckled, tilting his head. "Oi, oi, calm down, you giant menace." But Dora was just getting started.
"MASTER DOFFY! YOU WON'T BELIEVE THIS—BUT I'M STRONGER NOW! WAY STRONGER THAN YOU!"
Silence. Señor visibly choked on nothing. Doflamingo arched a brow, his slow, amused grin stretching wider.
"Oh? That so?"
"YES!" Dora declared proudly, her massive frame practically shaking with excitement. "I ATE A DEVIL FRUIT! BUT NOT JUST ANY DEVIL FRUIT—A FRUIT WAY MORE POWERFUL THAN YOURS!"
Lucci, clearly mortified, had both arms wrapped around Dora's arms, trying and failing to wrestle her away from the transponder snail.
"DORA—SHUT UP—!"
"HAHAHAHA! NOT A CHANCE!" Dora bellowed, effortlessly ignoring Lucci's futile efforts.
Doflamingo rested his elbow on the armrest of his chair, thoroughly entertained.
"Oi, oi, now you've got me curious. And what kind of fruit did you eat that's supposedly stronger than mine?" Dora puffed out her chest with absolute pride.
"THE RUMBLE-RUMBLE FRUIT! THE ONE THAT TURNS ME INTO LIGHTNING ITSELF! NOW I CAN DO THIS—"
A massive, thunderous CRACK echoed from the other end of the line—a bolt of lightning splitting through the air as Dora, in her excitement, unintentionally discharged electricity.
But within the palace, both Doflamingo and Señor Pink frowned slightly.
"The Rumble-Rumble Fruit?"
"Wait..." Señor muttered. "Isn't that...?"
That was Rosinante's fruit. So why was Dora saying she had it? A tense silence settled before Rossinante finally spoke again.
"…She's not lying, Doffy. She ate the Lightning Logia. As for my fruit..." Rossinante hesitated for a fraction of a second. "I'll explain when we meet in person." Doflamingo's eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise.
"Oh ho… now that's interesting."
Meanwhile, Lucci had practically climbed onto Dora's back, his entire body wrapped around her shoulders in a desperate attempt to pry her away from the snail.
"STOP EMBARRASSING US!" Lucci hissed through gritted teeth. Dora, completely unfazed, grinned wide.
"TELL SENOR I'M STRONGER THAN HIM TOO! AND DIAMANTE! AND PROBABLY EVEN ISSHO SAN!"
Señor pursed his lips, crossing his arms as he muttered, "Tch… kid gets one fruit and thinks she can talk back to her elders..."
Doflamingo simply chuckled, leaning back in his chair.
"Alright, alright, Dora, I get it. You're strong. Now let me talk to my brother."
"FINE! BUT REMEMBER, MASTER DOFFY—YOU OWE ME A FIGHT WHEN WE GET BACK!" Dora huffed, finally relinquishing the transponder snail.
The moment she let go, Lucci yanked it away so fast it nearly snapped, practically throwing it at Rosinante.
"DO NOT LET HER TALK AGAIN." Lucci growled, breathless.
Rossinante sighed. "Yeah, I'm working on that."
Doflamingo merely smirked, adjusting his signature sunglasses.
"Fufufufu… Looks like you've been having quite the adventure, little brother."